Words and photos by Justin Ross
We had come for the waves.
The plan was simple: pack the boards, chase the swells, and spend a long weekend on Vancouver Island, surfing until our arms gave out. “Surfing” might be a generous word, though. None of us would claim to be actual surfers by any stretch, but we definitely enjoy the ritual, the cold wetsuit dance in the parking lot, the sprint into the water, and those rare, glorious moments when we actually stand up for more than a few seconds. I rolled onto the ferry with that familiar hum of anticipation that comes before a good trip. All my gear was stashed neatly in RUX 70s, waterproof and organized, ready for anything.
I met Tanner & Caitlin in Port Alberni as they live in the Comox Valley. By the time we reached Tofino, darkness had settled over the coast. We checked into Surf Grove, headlights cutting through the mist as the first flakes began to fall. It felt strange, snow on the beach, but kind of magical too. The next morning, we all awoke to a white world. Six inches of fresh snow blanketed the campground, soft and silent.
Still, we stuck to the plan. We were “surfers,” after all, or at least pretending to be. The ocean didn’t care about the snow; it was alive and rolling, the waves clean and glassy under a crisp winter sky. We paddled out, laughing at the absurdity of it all, trying to surf the perfect waves while snow dusted the sand. But by the time we came in, the idea had already started to take shape.
You could almost feel it in the air, that pull toward the mountains. The storm that had blanketed the coast had dumped even more inland, and someone said it out loud: “Tomorrow, we ski.”
So the next morning, we packed up our gear again, everything neatly stashed in those RUX 70s, keeping the wets wet and the drys dry. Tanner & Caitlin in their new-to-them right-hand-drive Japanese camper van, and I in my Subaru. It was one of their first big outings in it, and the van just added to the adventure vibe, part road trip, part improvisation, all good energy. I drove in my own car behind them, trying to keep up and laughing every time I saw the super rad cow decal on the back window.
We left the coast behind and wound our way toward Mount Washington, trading salt air for pine trees and snow. When we finally pulled into the parking lot, it felt like we had stepped into a different world. The snow was fresh, the lines were short, and the hill was glowing in the sunlight. We spent the day carving through it, hooting and laughing like kids. The surfboards sat quietly in the back, but none of us minded.
That weekend was pure spontaneity, the kind of trip that doesn’t go as planned but turns out better than you could have imagined. It was just me and some of my best friends on the island, making the most of whatever came our way.
Sometimes it feels like we have already squeezed every last drop from the low-hanging fruit, the easy, familiar adventures we have done a hundred times. Maybe this trip was the pulp left over, an unexpected mix of everything we love, skimmed over for greener pastures but somehow richer for it. Sometimes life doesn’t hand you lemons; it hands you a peach, sweet and unexpected. You just have to be ready to take a bite.
